Stalker Shortstory
by thenefariousone
Summary: Just a quick story I wrote one day, for no particular reason. The S.T.A.L.K.E.R. setting seems ideal for this sort of thing, a one time situation. People come and go in the Zone.


The bullet took him right in the base of his spine. Later, as he recounted his experience with the other men, he would tell of how it felt more like a sledgehammer had struck him.. or a boar at full tilt. Either way, the impact cut his legs out from underneath him, to send him sprawling amongst the wooden crates in the camp, with more bullets flying all around him.

Rolling away from where he thought the shooter was dug in, he took refuge behind those same crates, eyeing the larger, steel plated ones only a few meters away. He silently thanked the technician for recommending the extra armour plating; it had probably saved his life, let alone getting crippled.

Lying on his back, Anton looked up at the sky. The day was a rare kind, clear and blue and bright. He decided that if he was to die on this day, it was as good as he could hope. It was a lot better a day than those where radiation storms swept across the landscape, filling the air with so much fire and death. He snapped out of his reverie, mentally shaking himself to come to grips with the trouble he was in.

After weighing the distance from the steel clad cover against his assailants probable marksmanship, he decided it was worth a shot, gathered his legs beneath him, and tore through the empty space to slam back against the metal haven. Clods of dirt leapt into the air as bullets flew past him, several striking a nearby tree and showering him with splinters.

Cursing the shooters mother while brushing splinters from himself, Anton checked his preferred weapon from its place on his back, deciding he did'nt need it for this fight. He had invested considerable time and money in all of his equipment; underestimating the Zone was a mistake few ever lived to learn from. Today he would show yet another opponent why he was called the Dog. It was time to get dirty.

--

Kostya was getting impatient; the loner hadn't died from his first shot, which was poor enough luck, but he commended himself on having pinned the man in such a poor spot to be. Remembering the mans equipment, and how expensive it looked, he grinned, and pushed the button to release the magazine from his own modest assault rifle.

--

At hearing the distinct, all too-familiar click of a weapon being unloaded, Anton burst from his cover, instantly scanning his path to the man who had shot him. He saw him immediately, crouched down amongst bushes, halfway behind a tree stump. The man was filthy, with a black kevlar jacket covered in foodstains, among other things. The look on his face was a mixture of disbelief and abject horror as he grasped the situation he found himself in, but there was no time for Anton to stop and enjoy it.

As the bandit scrambled frantically to slam a clip into the cheap weapon he held, the Dog rapidly closed in on him. Dropping the weapon an instant after the magazine slipped from his fingers, the bandit started to beg for mercy.

"Please.."

The Dog's armoured knee slammed into his face, throwing his head back and instantly snapping his neck. The man collapsed in a ragged heap, his hands still held up over his head, pleading for mercy. He gave one final twitch, exhaled his final breath, and died.

After checking his surroundings for any other threats, Anton felt the small of his back, once again cursing the bandit. The bullet had managed to penetrate the thinner, outer layers of his suit, having been stopped by the heavier plating underneath. He would need to have it repaired before venturing any depth into anomalous fields; such a breach could be fatal. If he stepped into one of those fiery anomalies, searing flame and radiation would slip into his suit and roast him alive.

Stripping anything of value he had found on the bandit and around the camp to his pack, he hoisted his longarm onto his shoulder, this time keeping it well at hand. He would not make the same mistake twice.

His face grew peaceful as he moved at a steady, experienced pace through the brush, taking in the clear skies and green trees around him. A good day it was, especially since he was returning to the loner camp. A hot meal and a decent bed would do his back wonders. He might have a word with the techy about his suit, to see if they might put a second layer of anomalous protection under the ballistic one. Might be that they even got his special order in at the traders by now.

By all accounts, Antons day was definitely looking up. He had gotten into a fight, been shot, survived both situations, gotten a few valuable bits and pieces from the camp, and it was a lovely day out.

Just another day in the life of a Stalker in the Zone.


End file.
